


The Problem with Yule

by MaryRoyale



Series: Problem verse [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fairest of the Rare Advent, Misunderstandings, Multi, Problem Verse, War does not help relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 01:24:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12948306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryRoyale/pseuds/MaryRoyale
Summary: Since the war ended, Millicent had done her very best to avoid all of wizarding Britain--even going so far as to attend Durmstrang to take her N.E.W.T.s. Unfortunately, her mother (with a little help from Narcissa Malfoy) has other plans.Now Millicent is forced to face everything... and everyone... she left behind. A charity ball gathers the ghosts of her past, present and future under one roof. Will Millicent survive the fallout?





	1. Ghosts of the Past

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for the Facebook group "The Fairest of the Rare" and their Christmas Advent 2017 event. These ladies are amazing, hardworking, and everything that makes the HP fandom wonderful.

 

 

There were expectations for young witches of certain families. One was supposed to find a young wizard with good prospects from an acceptable family. One was supposed to occupy one’s time with lady-like pursuits that would bring acclaim to one’s family, and make one attractive to potential suitors. One was supposed to join charities to help one’s future spouse make business and political connections.

Unfortunately, Millicent seemed to fail across the board when it came to all of those expectations.

“Daddy,” Millicent sighed heavily. Her Daddy scowled at her and gestured at her Mummy who was reclining strategically on a settee with one arm draped artfully over her face.

“Look at what you’re doing to your Mummy!” He bellowed.

“Mummy is fine,” Millicent retorted.

“I just want you to be happy, darling,” Mummy said in a slightly muffled voice. She lifted her arm and sat up. “That’s all we’ve ever wanted for you.”

“How on earth will joining Narcissa Malfoy’s Yule Ball planning committee make _me_ happy?” Millicent demanded in an acid tone.

“It will give you some cachet,” Mummy explained almost immediately. She glanced at Daddy and then looked back at Millicent. “You’ve become a recluse since you graduated Hogwarts. You never leave the estate, you don’t visit with any of your friends, you decline any invitations you do receive.”

It was tragically amusing to watch her parents go through linguistic gymnastics to avoid talking about the Wizarding War. Of course Millicent avoided leaving the estate. As a well-known Slytherin, it was politic to lay low in the year or so after the War. Visiting with her friends from school now fell into two categories—those that were angry about what had happened, and those that were… broken. Millicent supposed that she fell into the first category by default.

“Fine,” Millicent muttered. “I’ll do the stupid planning committee.”

What her parents didn’t mention, and what Millicent already knew, was that being asked to join the planning committee was a huge deal. Either Narcissa Malfoy was doing them a favour and would call it in later, or she owed Mummy a favour, and Mummy was collecting. Millicent wondered which it was.

With a satisfied smile, Mummy stood up from the settee and moved towards Millicent. She put her hands on Millicent’s shoulders and kissed each cheek.

“I’m so proud of you, darling,” Mummy said as she moved back.

 

 

/\/\/\/\

 

“Miss Bulstrode, dear, it’s so lovely to see you,” Narcissa greeted her at the front door.

“Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Malfoy,” Millicent replied automatically. Some responses were so ingrained that Millicent spoke them before she even realized it.

“Not everyone has arrived yet, but I’ll show you into the blue parlour and you can make yourself at home,” Mrs. Malfoy continued as she headed into the house.

The Blue Parlour had featured in much of Millicent’s childhood. Her mother had come for tea, and she had often brought Millicent with her before she went off to Hogwarts. She followed Mrs. Malfoy down the hall and steeled herself to greet witches that she’d known most of her life. Self-consciously, she tugged at her robes and tried to smooth them with slightly sweaty hands. She could feel her pulse race as her anxiety levels rose.

“Hermione, darling, you remember Millicent Bulstrode from school, don’t you?” Mrs. Malfoy prompted as she sailed into the Blue Parlour.

“Of course, Mrs. Malfoy,” Hermione replied smoothly. She nodded politely to Millicent. “Miss Bulstrode.”

If Millicent bothered to reply to any of her friends’ Owls, she might have heard about Hermione Granger apparently becoming Mrs. Malfoy’s protégée, but she had not. Only a lifetime’s worth of etiquette training saved Millicent from gaping like an idiot. She nodded to Granger cautiously. Mrs. Malfoy beamed at the both of them.

“It’s so nice to see that punctuality is a common trait for your generation,” she praised them. “If only that were true of mine. I’ll just leave you two alone for a few moments while I collect our stragglers. There are sandwiches and tea. If you need anything else, Hermione can call for another tray.”

Left alone with Hermione Granger, Millicent cautiously took a seat as far away from Harry Potter’s very bestest friend as she could get. She sat down and crossed her ankles, folding her hands neatly in her lap. Granger stared at for a moment with a pouty frown.

“I hate that all of you do that,” Granger announced. She waved a hand at Millicent. “Even Pansy does it, and she’s the least lady-like person I know.”

“I beg your pardon?” Millicent blinked at Granger in surprise.

“You don’t even know you’re doing it, do you?” Granger pressed.

“Doing what, Miss Granger?” Millicent asked.

“The sitting… and the posture, and the… all of it,” Granger muttered.

Millicent snorted. “If you had a hex that would give you a mild shock every time you slouched, you’d have excellent posture, too,” she countered.

Granger’s jaw dropped. “Really?”

“There are a whole series of etiquette charms,” Millicent explained. “Some are specific to certain families, and some are in published wizarding etiquette books.”

“That explains so much,” Granger muttered half to herself. She eyed Millicent thoughtfully. “Did Mrs. Malfoy convince you to come to this thing, too?”

“Mrs. Malfoy doesn’t have to convince anyone to join her committees,” Millicent retorted. “Witches _beg_ to be on these committees, Miss Granger.”

“That…,” Granger paused and frowned down at her hands. “I didn’t beg,” she said with quiet defiance.

“I didn’t imagine you did,” Millicent agreed.

“Here we are,” Mrs. Malfoy announced brightly as she swept into the room regally. A trail of older witches and Daphne Greengrass followed Mrs. Malfoy into the Blue Parlour.

“Ladies, you all know Hermione, of course. And Miss Bulstrode was kind enough to join us,” Mrs. Malfoy gestured toward each of them, but was never so vulgar as to point at them. “Miss Bulstrode, I believe you know Mrs. Greengrass, but I’m not certain if you have meet Mrs. Selwyn, Mrs. Fawley, Mrs. Shafiq, Mrs. Flint, Mrs. Yaxley, Mrs. Rowle, and Mrs. Macmillan.”

Millicent had immediately risen to her feet and curtseyed to the assembled ladies. She had murmured an acknowledgement to each woman as she had been introduced, and each woman had nodded politely at her. She noticed Granger watching the entire display with curiosity. As soon as the introductions were over, Daphne made a beeline for Millicent and sat down next to her.

“It’s pleasant to see that you’re alive,” Daphne murmured as soon as she could.

Millicent sighed. “Mummy insisted.”

“Mine too,” Daphne muttered back. She paused and glanced at Millicent under her lashes. “Mrs. Malfoy made Hermione join.”

“Hermione?” Millicent echoed in surprise. “When did _that_ happen?”

“Couple of years ago, actually. No one knows why, but Mrs. Malfoy took Granger under her wing,” Daphne explained. She tilted her head slightly. “Did you hear that Pansy is seeing Harry Potter.”

Both of Millicent’s brows rose at that little tidbit. “Potter and Pansy?”

“She said that she Owled you,” Daphne said pointedly. Millicent flushed and avoided Daphne’s sharp gaze.

“I’m sure she did. I put up mail wards ages ago,” Millicent muttered. “It seemed a smart idea at the time.”

“Millie,” Daphne sighed. “It’s not your fault… you know that, right?”

“Miss Bulstrode, would you be willing to assist Hermione with the refreshments subcommittee?” Mrs. Malfoy asked.

“Of course, Mrs. Malfoy,” Millicent replied promptly.  

 

/\/\/\/\/\

 

The easiest arrangement was for the refreshments subcommittee to meet at a local café. Millicent had avoided Diagon Alley for years, and she was surprised when most people just ignored her. It wasn’t snubbing or shunning, they had no idea who she was, and they didn’t really care to find out. A feeling akin to relief flooded Millicent and by the time she reached the little café that Granger had suggested, she was smiling slightly.

It was not a surprise that Granger was already seated at a small table, and Millicent made her way over and sat down.

“ _Thank you_ ,” Granger said feelingly.

“For sitting down?” Millicent asked in surprise.

“No, for agreeing to be on the refreshments subcommittee,” Granger corrected her.

“Well, I’m hardly going to tell Mrs. Malfoy ‘no,’ am I?” Millicent observed with a roll of her eyes.

“Fair point,” Granger agreed. She wrinkled her nose at Millicent. “Still, I would much rather have you than Iris Selwyn.”

“She’s my mother’s cousin,” Millicent offered. Granger flinched and tried to stutter out an apology. Millicent waved a hand at her. “She’s a perfect horror. I hated going to her house for tea.”

“She tried to rearrange the refreshments for the Spring charity fundraiser,” Granger muttered with a dark frown. “It would have been hideous and Mrs. Malfoy would have killed us both.”

“Mrs. Malfoy knows what cousin Iris is like,” Millicent said with a shake of her head. “She wouldn’t have blamed you.”

“No, but she would have made her disappointed face,” Granger pointed out. Both women shuddered reflexively. “Right, let’s get to work.”  

The two witches hammered out a refreshments menu easily between the two of them. Granger listened to Millicent the few times that she offered a suggestion, carefully writing everything down in her neat, tidy script.  For the most part, Millicent sat back and listened to Granger.

“We’ll have to see who’s available,” Granger said as she looked over their list with a small frown. “And then we’ll have to schedule a tasting.”

“Just let me know when, my schedule is wide open,” she murmured with a self-deprecating smile.

“O—kay,” Granger drawled slowly and made a note to herself. “My schedule is booked except for Thursday evenings.”

“Thursday evening it is,” Millicent agreed. “Just let me know which one.”

When Millicent arrived home that evening, she tweaked her mail ward so that Granger and Daphne could send her Owls. She _might_ be able to argue ignorance to anyone else, but she knew if she didn’t give at least Daphne access, then Daphne would approach Mummy. Giving Granger access went without saying. Millicent might not want to see anyone from school, but if she ignored Granger, _Mrs. Malfoy_ would approach Mummy, and Millicent would never hear the end of it.

The next morning, Millicent had an Owl from Daphne inviting her over for tea. Reluctantly, Millicent sent back a quick note agreeing to tea at the Greengrasses.

“I’m going to the Greengrasses for tea, Mummy,” Millicent announced at breakfast.

“That’s wonderful, darling,” Mummy gushed. She looked at Daddy who was reading the newspaper. “Isn’t that wonderful, dear?”

“Wonderful,” Daddy agreed from behind his newspaper.

Mummy beamed at Millicent. “I _knew_ that the Yule Charity Ball committee would be good for you. Make sure to give my regards to Mrs. Greengrass.”

“Of course, Mummy,” Millicent agreed.

Tea was rather what Millicent had expected. Astoria and Mrs. Greengrass were demure and polite. Daphne fidgeted, fairly vibrating in her seat before grabbing Millicent by the arm and dragging her off to the frozen garden for a ‘tour about the grounds.’

“Well?” Daphne demanded once they were free of the house and the possibly prying eyes and ears of Astoria and Mrs. Greengrass.

“Well what?” Millicent asked. She pulled out her wand and cast the strongest warming charm she knew.

“I haven’t seen you in years,” Daphne hissed. “At first, I thought maybe you were _dead_. You just… you disappeared!”

“It seemed easier,” Millicent admitted.

“Easier?” Daphne’s voice rose almost to a shriek, and Millicent clapped her hand over Daphne’s mouth. Daphne growled at her and Millicent moved her hand. “You think that it was _easier_ for us to think you were dead? He was positively frantic, worrying about you—”

“Don’t,” Millicent snapped. Daphne’s mouth clicked shut and she stared at Millicent with wide eyes.

“Mills,” Daphne whispered.

“Just… don’t,” Millicent muttered.

“We love you, Mills,” Daphne protested. “You’re one of us. Do you know what it’s like, to not have you there when we all get together? We tell stories, you know? Stories about the time you hexed Adrian Pucey mute for three days in Second Year and all the Prefects gave you chocolate.”

“That was pretty good,” Millicent admitted with a smug smile.

“You know who we also tell stories about?” Daphne continued angrily. “Vincent.”

“Vincent wasn’t as bad as… as p-people liked to make him out to be,” Millicent said in a quiet voice. “He could be quite sweet.”

“You were the only one he was ever nice to,” Daphne retorted. “He had a ridiculous crush on you. Everyone knew except you.”

“He did not,” Millicent protested for the millionth time.

“Mills, the boy was so gone on you. He sent you Valentine’s cards every year,” Daphne reminded her. Then she shook her head. “Which is so not the point. The point is… we love you. We miss you. Now that we know you’re not...”

“Locked up somewhere for my own good and to keep the illustrious name of Bulstrode shiny and bright?” Millicent suggested dryly. Daphne nodded in concession.

“Well, yes. Now that we know you aren’t, Pansy isn’t going to let us hold her back any longer. If you don’t come, she’ll show up at the Abbey and probably cause a ruckus,” Daphne warned her.

“Pansy isn’t nearly as intimidating as she thinks she is,” Millicent muttered.

“You know Pansy,” Daphne countered. “She’ll show up with Harry Bloody Potter in tow and tell your mother _everything._ ”

Millicent glared at Daphne. “Don’t you threaten me, Daphne Greengrass.”

“I’m not threatening you,” Daphne huffed. “I’m warning you. Potter thinks he’s Pansy protector or something. If Marcus and Greg showed up and tried to restrain Potter’s fragile little flower, they’d both wind up in Azkaban and Pansy would still be spilling all your dirty little secrets to your parents.”

“Bloody hell,” Millicent snarled. “When?”

“Thursday evening,” Daphne replied.

“I can’t do Thursday evening!” Millicent burst out. “I have a thing with Granger! We have to… taste cake or something. It’s for the gods bedamned refreshments committee.”

“Oh dear,” Daphne sighed.

“Don’t ‘oh dear’ me,” Millicent growled. “You’re still the queen bee of Slytherin. Fucking fix it, Daphne.”

“I’ll try,” Daphne promised, but her eyes were troubled and she bit her lower lip.

 

/\/\/\/\/\

 

The day after Millicent received two Owls. One was from Granger, confirming the tasting. The other was from Daphne, letting Millicent know that there was a function on Friday. Millicent quickly responded to both notes—telling Granger that, yes of course she would be there at the appointed time, and letting Daphne know that she would present herself at Nott Manor on Friday.

“Miss Bulstrode,” Granger called when she entered the _pâtisserie_. Millicent wasn’t certain if she should be offended by Granger’s relieved smile.

“Miss Granger,” Millicent returned coolly and looked Miss Granger over with a critical eye.

Dressing for a tasting was the sort of thing that Millicent had actually been trained to do. She was wearing navy blue witches’ robes in a classic cut. There was a matching hat that her mother had described as ‘jaunty’ perched on her head just so. Miss Granger was wearing conservative robes in a dark burgundy that she suspected Mrs. Malfoy might have picked out. Still, Granger would do.

“Do I pass muster?” Granger asked with a little sigh.

“Of course,” Millicent said with a polite little smile. “Mrs. Malfoy’s taste is impeccable.”

“How did you know?” Granger asked.

“I saw what you wore in school, Miss Granger,” Millicent retorted. Her gaze flicked over Granger’s robes.

“I actually picked this set out myself,” Granger sighed. She glared at her robes and scowled. “I suppose Mrs. Malfoy would be please to know she’s influencing my buying now, too.”

“I’m certain she would be,” Millicent agreed. “Mrs. Malfoy has always preferred to have a clever pupil.”

“Miss Granger?” The pâttisier called her name. He held a clipboard and smiled toothily at the both of them.

When Granger inched slightly closer to Millicent, she hid a smirk. Perhaps the Gryffindor had developed a few Slytherin tendencies. Mrs. Malfoy had always preferred to surround herself with smart witches, and Millicent assumed any protégée would be the same.

“If you ladies will follow me,” the pâttisier said with a wave of his clipboard.

The tasting went the way Millicent expected it to, with the pâttisier hanging on Granger’s every word. Granger, for her part, would turn to Millicent and ask her opinion on every single thing.

“What do you think, Miss Bulstrode?” Granger asked with quirked brow.

“A bit dry,” Millicent said with a shrug. “I think you’ll need at least one chocolate, but perhaps something a bit… seasonal? Maybe a spice cake?”

“We can do a spice cake,” the pâttisier agreed. He frowned and scribbled on his clipboard.

“Can you…,” Granger paused and bit her lip. “Can you do St. Mungo’s in gingerbread?”

“But of course,” the pâttisier said in a vaguely affronted tone. “We once did Hogwarts in shortbread.”

“Excellent,” Millicent murmured with a perfunctory smile. She turned to Granger. “Shall we schedule a follow-up?”

“Next Thursday?” Granger asked the pâttisier.

“We will make room for Miss Granger,” the pâttisier announced grandly.

“Thank you,” Millicent replied with her polite smile. “The St. Mungo’s Charity Foundation is most grateful.”

The pâttisier nodded eagerly. “It is such a pleasure to see young witches interested in helping others,” he offered with another toothy smile.

“It is a pleasure to help others,” Millicent replied on autopilot. She grabbed Granger by the elbow and rose to her feet. “Please Owl Miss Granger’s office with the details. Her secretary will coordinate with you.”

“I don’t even have a secretary,” Granger hissed as Millicent chivvied her out of the store.

“Then get one. You run a department, do you not?” Millicent demanded as she dragged Granger down Diagon Alley. “Why in Merlin’s name don’t you have a secretary?”

“I…,” Granger sputtered helplessly.

“I would think that Mrs. Malfoy would have insisted that you get one,” Millicent muttered half to herself.

“Mrs. Malfoy stays out of the Ministry if she can help it,” Granger admitted.

“We’ll see about that,” Millicent muttered.

 

/\/\/\/\/\

 

Irritation drove Millicent to Nott Manor. She huffed at the House Elf that answered the door and marched into the foyer, her heels clicking her displeasure as she went. Millicent pulled off her gloves and her cape and glared at Theodore Nott who was watching her with a smirk.

“Well? I’m here,” she snapped.

“Merlin, I’ve missed you, Mills,” Theo said with a grin. He gestured to the hall. “We’re all gathered in the larger parlour.”

Years of visiting Theo’s home took her down the hall to the large parlour. Everyone froze for a moment when she walked in the room. Adrian Pucey was lounging in a chair speaking quietly to Tracey Davis. Marcus Flint was arguing, probably about Quidditch, with Terrence Higgs and Graham Montague. Greg Goyle rose to his feet and moved toward her.

“Mills,” he said in his quiet, gruff voice.

“Greg,” Millicent sighed.

Before she could credit it, she was wrapped up in his huge arms. Millicent had been a big girl. The only year mates who had come close to making her feel dainty had been Greg and Vincent. She clung to Greg, hiding her face in his chest, and trying desperately to ignore the fact that Vincent wasn't here to drag her out of Greg's arms and spin her about in a circle.

“Millicent Bulstrode!” Pansy shrieked.

Greg and Millicent broke apart so that Millicent could glare at Pansy.

“It’s nice to see you, too, Pansy,” Millicent said coolly.

“Nice? Nice! I thought… we _all_ thought that you…,” Pansy stopped speaking and just glared at Millicent.

“I needed some time,” Millicent said into the sudden silence.

“Mills,” Daphne called out cheerfully. She shoved Pansy out of the way and hurried forward to hug Millicent. “Come sit down. Greg, can you get us something to drink?”

Millicent watched in fascination as Greg scurried off to do Daphne’s bidding. She turned to Daphne.

“Did you know that Granger doesn’t have a secretary?” Millicent asked.

“I do my level best to ignore Granger on any given day,” Daphne retorted with a roll of her eyes. Then she sighed and shook her head. “I’m not surprised. She wants so badly to prove herself. She thinks that any help at all negates her work. Silly cow.”

“How do we get her one?” Millicent asked curiously.

“Theo!” Daphne called.

“Yes love?” Theo poked his head into the parlour.

“Granger needs a minder, preferably an intelligent one,” Daphne told him.

“I can arrange it,” Theo said slowly with a thoughtful frown. Daphne smiled winningly at him.

“You’re such a dear,” she said fondly.

“Are congratulations in order?” Millicent asked in surprise.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mills. Adrian and I have an understanding,” Daphne scoffed. She gave Millicent a conspiratorial smirk. “Being on all the right committees is keeping Mummy at bay for now.”

“Besides, Theo has no patience for Daphne at all,” Pansy sniffed as she sat down next to them. She glared at Millicent. “I’m still furious with you, just so you know.”

Millicent shrugged awkwardly. “I didn’t want you to have to choose,” she muttered.

“There was never a choice,” Pansy huffed and then pouted at Millicent. “I missed you, you utter twat.”

“Merlin’s beard, Pansy.” Millicent stared at her former best-friend. “Do you talk like that in front of your mother?”

“Potter’s been a horrible influence on her,” Daphne confided. “She curses like a Knockturn Alley whore.”

“She’s always cursed like a Knockturn Alley whore,” Millicent countered with a smirk that made Pansy squawk indignantly.

“I have not!” Pansy protested.

“Mummy sent you home from my 13th birthday party with a sternly worded note for your mother,” Millicent reminded her.

“And then there was Draco’s 10th birthday party,” Tracey added as she joined them.

“I thought Mrs. Malfoy was going to faint right there on the west lawn,” Daphne said with an unseemly amount of glee.

“He was a vicious little prick,” Pansy grumbled.

“Says the witch who dated him for three years,” Tracey teased with a wicked little smile.

“He was a well-connected vicious little prick,” Daphne suggested with a snicker.

Against her will, Millicent could feel her lips twitch. For a Slytherin, viciousness wasn’t exactly a detraction, and connections were always a plus. They might tease Pansy for dating Draco when he was an obnoxious little prat, but they could all see the value in it. For Pansy, there was the added bonus that having Draco Malfoy as an ex-boyfriend probably drove Potter positively potty. Millicent smirked at the thought.

“What are you thinking?” Daphne teased. “You’ve got your snake-mean face on, Mills. Spill,” she commanded.

“How does Potter like hearing about the good old days?” Millicent asked in a syrupy sweet voice that fooled no one in the room. “Your first kiss? Your first… mmph!” Millicent glared at Pansy who’d clapped her hand over Millicent’s mouth.

“We avoid it, when we can,” Pansy growled. “He’s got _Ginevra_ , and I’ve got… well, you know.”

Millicent did know, but like everyone else, she knew that those childhood romances meant little when one was an adult. The boy who was gifted with your first kiss might be a fond memory, but he wouldn’t dictate your family business or political policy.

 

 


	2. The Ghost of Yule Presents

“Do you have the wine ordered?” Millicent asked.

“Wine?” Granger blinked helplessly at Millicent.

“Grape by-product,” Millicent prompted Granger. “Witches and wizards tend to drink it at social functions.”

“Erm, Mrs. Malfoy has usually ordered it in the past,” Granger explained with a worried frown.

“That’s fine. We’ll just go see Klaus,” Millicent said with a shrug.

“Klaus?” Granger repeated.

“Von Nettesheim,” Millicent added and then waited. When Granger just stared at her blankly, Millicent sighed and rolled her eyes. “Agrippa’s Imports?”

“Oh!” Granger blinked in surprise. “Is that another cousin?”

“Not exactly, no,” Millicent said with a sigh.

After the war, Millicent had been reluctant to return to Hogwarts, and her parents had been willing to indulge her. She had finished out her education at Durmstrang, and had taken the International equivalents to the N.E.W.T.s. there. It had solved problems quite neatly, not the least of which was that she could avoid certain people.

“An ex-boyfriend?” Hermione guessed.

“Not exactly, no,” Millicent said reluctantly.

The Bulstrode family was old-fashioned enough that they viewed the whole concept of dating as being strange and new-fangled. Her father had gone on an epic rant about how dating was pointless unless it led to marriage. Millicent had ignored him for the most part and quietly dated at Hogwarts, but that had backfired in a way that still made her heart ache when she paused long enough to think about it.

Klaus had been a distraction—a very pleasant distraction, but nothing more than that.

Agrippa’s Imports occupied a prime location on Diagon Alley. Millicent had been there several times during the last few years, and she loved the layout. The shelves were beautifully carved walnut that had been enchanted to prevent shoplifting. Agrippa’s specialized in wine, but they also carried other exotic foodstuffs that were hard to come by. This time of year there was a whole section of Yuletide goodies that were uncommon in wizarding Britain.

The bell tinkled over the door as Hermione and Millicent entered the shop, and Millicent spotted Klaus almost immediately. It was rather impossible to avoid spotting Klaus Von Nettesheim no matter the crowd. Klaus was tall, broad-shouldered, and blond.

“Klaus, darling,” Millicent called out cheerfully.

Klaus turned to face her, a wide grin splitting his face. “ _Mein schatzie_!”

Quickly, he moved toward her and swept her up into his arms. He bussed her on each cheek and then pulled back to look at her.

“You are too pale, little duck,” he chided Millicent in German. “You should come sailing with me again.”

The throat-clearing was loud enough that it took Millicent a moment to realize that it was more than one person. She glanced toward where Klaus had been standing and blanched to see Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini staring at her in with focused intensity. Standing next to them was Klaus’ father, Konrad Von Nettesheim.

“Herr Von Nettesheim,” Millicent greeted the older wizard politely. She moved out of Klaus’ arms so that she could stand on her tiptoes and kiss his cheeks.

“Fraulein Bulstrode,” Konrad greeted her with a curt nod. Then he smiled and patted her cheek. “Klaus is right, you should come sailing with us. My Liesl has missed you.”

“Thank you, Herr Von Nettesheim,” Millicent said politely. “Please give my regards to Frau Von Nettesheim.”

“ _Ja_ ,” Konrad Von Nettesheim agreed. “Now if you will excuse me, Fraulein, I will help these young wizards with their purchase.”

Millicent turned her back on Draco and Blaise, knowing full well that such a direct snub would probably be reported to Mrs. Malfoy by either Draco, Granger, or perhaps Konrad Von Nettesheim.

“Klaus.” Millicent looked up at her former distraction with pleading eyes.

Klaus gave a curt nod that was eerily similar to his father’s and then put his arm about Millicent’s waist. He glanced toward Granger.

“If the Fraulein will please follow,” he said carefully in his stiff English.

Luckily enough, Granger followed without saying a word. Klaus gently led Millicent to his office and helped her sit on a small couch he had tucked against one wall. He gestured to Granger with a polite smile and Granger sat carefully on the settee next to Millicent with a slightly shell-shocked expression. She turned to stare at Millicent with wide eyes.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone… you know he’s not going to stand for that, right?” Granger whispered with a nervous glance at the door.

“I don’t care,” Millicent muttered back. “You can tattle on me to Mrs. Malfoy if you feel you must. It won’t change anything, except you might end up stuck with Cousin Iris after all.”

“Which one?” Klaus growled. He scowled at his door and then looked back at Millicent.

“It doesn’t matter,” Millicent sighed.

“Was it Malfoy?” Granger asked tentatively.

Millicent turned to look at the other witch. “Would it matter to you?” She asked curiously.

“No…,” Granger replied with a shake of her head. “But… it would explain a lot.”

“Not exactly, no,” Millicent replied after a long moment. Granger rolled her eyes at her.

“That’s your answer to everything,” Granger huffed indignantly.

“I can’t help that you’re asking the wrong questions,” Millicent retorted.

“How can I help you, little duck?” Klaus asked Millicent, diverting attention from the prickly subject of Malfoy.

“We need wine for the Yule Charity Ball,” Millicent explained. “I would guess… 10 cases to be on the safe side. Let’s say 5 white and 5 red.”

“What are you serving?” Klaus asked with a thoughtful frown.

Granger rattled off the courses quickly, only checking her clipboard once. Klaus nodded at several of the offerings.

“Very good,” he murmured to himself. “I think… yes, I think we have just what you need. Will you leave it up to me, little duck?”

“Of course, Klaus,” Millicent agreed. “Your taste is impeccable.”

Klaus smirked at her. “I like the best of everything, as you know.”

Millicent rolled her eyes. “On that note, I think we’ll leave before you scar Granger for life, and I have to explain what happened to Mrs. Malfoy.”

“We have some _Elisenlebkuchen_ ,” Klaus offered.

“Ooh. Yes please,” Millicent said eagerly. “Send a tin to Bulstrode Manor.”

“So… not a boyfriend?” Granger asked as she followed Millicent back out through the store where, thankfully, Draco and Blaise were no longer lurking.

“No,” Millicent replied as she paused at a display of German marzipan. She picked up a tin and headed to the register. She paid for the tin, shrank it, and tucked it in her bag.

“But, he… he’s not just a friend,” Granger continued doggedly as they left Agrippa’s Imports.

“Not exactly, no,” Millicent agreed. Granger huffed in irritation.

“What was he then?” Granger demanded.

“A pleasant distraction when I very much needed one,” Millicent murmured.

 

/\/\/\/\/\

 

“Let me see,” Mrs. Malfoy said and shuffled the papers in front of her. “I think that leaves the refreshments committee. Hermione?”

“Erm, yes,” Granger flipped through the pages on her clipboard. “The pâtissier we used for the spring event is free. Iolanthe is doing all of the food,” she recited dutifully.

“And the wine?” Iris Selwyn demanded with a curled lip.

From her place next to Daphne, Millicent rolled her eyes.

“Oh! Erm, the wine.” Granger flushed and fumbled with the clipboard. “Erm, Agrippa’s Imports have agreed to provide 10 cases of wine, 5 white and 5 red. They would like to donate it to the event.”

“Agrippa’s Imports?” Mrs. Malfoy sat up at that and bestowed Granger with a fond smile. “That is quite the coup, Hermione. Make sure that you note the donation so that we can send them a thank-you letter.”

“Of course,” Granger agreed and made a little note on her clipboard.

Next to Millicent, Daphne huffed in irritation, and Millicent poked her in the side. The last thing Millicent needed was Mrs. Malfoy’s undivided attention.

“Do you suppose that you could also get 4 cases of champagne?” Mrs. Malfoy asked after a long moment. “We may have a special announcement at the Yule Charity Ball, and I’d like to have champagne on hand if we do.”

“Oh.” Granger turned to stare at Millicent with wide, panicked eyes. Millicent nodded and then Granger turned back to Mrs. Malfoy with a weak smile. “Of course. We’ll speak to them about it right away.”

After the meeting had adjourned, and all of them were making polite noises and leaving, Mrs. Malfoy touched Millicent’s elbow.

“If you could stay a moment Miss Bulstrode?” Mrs. Malfoy suggested with a carefully polite smile.

“Of course, Mrs. Malfoy,” Millicent agreed immediately, her stomach churning with dread. _What in Merlin’s name could Narcissa Malfoy want to discuss?_  Unbidden, her direct cut of Malfoy and Zabini flashed to the forefront of her mind.

“I want to thank you for your assistance on the refreshments committee,” Mrs. Malfoy began. She looked at her hands and then shrugged. “Not everyone has been as willing to work with Hermione as you have been.”

Both of her eyebrows rose in surprise. “Truly?” She asked in a tone rife disbelief. “Who would have been that stupid? Not Daphne, surely.”

A genuine smile twisted Mrs. Malfoy’s lips for a brief moment and she looked at Millicent with a fond expression.

“No, not Daphne,” Mrs. Malfoy assured her. “It was Iris Selwyn.”

Millicent could not help the way her lip automatically curled.

“Mrs. Malfoy,” Millicent began only to be stopped by Mrs. Malfoy putting one hand on Millicent’s arm.

“Your mother and I have been friends for longer than you’ve been alive,” Mrs. Malfoy reminded her. “I’m certainly not going to blame you for Iris Selwyn’s abominable behavior.”

“Of course,” Millicent murmured, now confused about why Mrs. Malfoy had detained her.

“There are some that enjoy speculating about what my sponsorship of Hermione means…,” here Mrs. Malfoy paused and her gaze slid away from Millicent.

“Miss Granger seems to be an intelligent woman with taste and style,” Millicent said carefully. “It’s a pity she was Sorted into Gryffindor.”

“There are times when I wonder if she wasn’t Mis-Sorted,” Mrs. Malfoy muttered.

“Well… she _was_ a hatstall,” Millicent offered with a cool little smile.

 

/\/\/\/\/\

 

 

“I didn’t say anything,” Granger blurted out when they next met.

Millicent blinked at Granger’s distressed expression. Mrs. Malfoy’s hand was evident in Granger’s sleek robes and her tidy chignon, but apparently even Narcissa Malfoy couldn’t break Granger of chewing on her lower lip when she worried.

“I didn’t imagine that you had,” Millicent replied as she sat down. “No one ever questioned your loyalty to Potter during the War, and most of us remember Edgecombe’s unfortunate fate.”

Granger flushed and huffed at her. “I know that Mrs. Malfoy wanted to speak with you, and I just wanted to assure you that I—”

“Stop,” Millicent begged. “Look, Granger—”

“Hermione,” Granger prompted her.

“All right, Hermione,” Millicent capitulated with a small sigh. She grimaced and then gestured at Gran—Hermione. “Please, call me Millicent.”

“Thank you,” Hermione whispered. She flushed again and shook her head. “How do you remember everything?”

“I had incentive,” Millicent muttered. Hermione grimaced.

“You mentioned that.” Hermione chewed anxiously on her lower lip, making Millicent wince in sympathy for the abused flesh. “I… it’s none of my business, but…”

“You’re right,” Millicent agreed in a flat voice that brooked no argument.

“If… if Mrs. Malfoy asks me, what should I say?” Hermione asked hesitantly.

“Tell her that it’s none of her business, either,” Millicent grumbled. She rubbed her temples and huffed in irritation. “This is why I avoided everyone. It’s just… it’s easier.”

“Except Klaus,” Hermione reminded her. “It didn’t look as though you avoided him at all.”

Millicent glared at Hermione. “ _You_ have been spending far too much time with Pansy.”

“She is my best friend’s girlfriend,” Hermione admitted with a shrug.

“It’s probably killing her that you’re on the St. Mungo’s Charity Foundation and she isn’t,” Millicent mused aloud. “Even worse now that Daphne’s taken over for her mother, and I’ve been pushed into it by Mummy.”

“She’s been rather vocal on the subject,” Hermione agreed with a frown.

“Pansy’s vocal about _everything_ ,” Millicent said. Hermione grimaced and rolled her eyes.

“Tell me about it,” she grumbled. “You would think that between the two of them _somebody_ would know a silencing spell.”

The snort of amusement escaped before Millicent even realized it. Hermione snickered at the shocked look on Millicent’s face, and before long both witches were laughing so hard that their sides hurt.

 

/\/\/\/\/\

 

The next morning when Millicent came down to breakfast, Mummy and Daddy were already eating. She took her place silently at the table and listened to Daddy rant about something in the _Prophet_ that had upset him while Mummy sipped at her tea and made consoling sorts of noises.

“Millicent darling,” Mummy greeted her with a bright smile.

There was a small silver tray with several notes. Millicent sighed and picked up the card on top. The ornate double P monogram printed in emerald green ink was very familiar, even if Millicent hadn’t seen it for a couple of years thanks to her Owl wards.

“Pansy called?” Millicent asked and looked up to see Mummy beam at her.

“She invited you to lunch at that new little café just off of Diagon Alley,” Mummy burbled excitedly. “Isn’t that wonderful, Millicent?”

“Marvelous,” Millicent sighed.

“It’s so wonderful to see you taking your rightful place in wizarding society,” Mummy said. She turned to smile fondly at Daddy. “Isn’t it wonderful, Seward?”

“Wonderful,” Daddy mumbled from behind his paper. His paper crinkled and then he lowered it so that he could frown at Millicent. “Who’s taking you to this Charity Ball?”

“Hereward promised that he would, Daddy,” Millicent said with a sigh. “Everard is still in Russia courting the Rasputin heiress.”

The paper crinkled again and Daddy grunted something non-committal about the Russian wizarding enclave in general. Mummy beamed at the entire table and took another sip of her tea.

“Ekaterina seems like such a sweet girl,” Mummy observed.

“She was nice to me when I went to visit last summer,” Millicent offered with a shrug.

The Bulstrodes considered themselves lucky to have three children when so many families struggled to continue. Everard was almost fifteen years older than Millicent and she felt as though she didn’t really know him. Hereward was only six years older than Millicent, and he had been around for much of her childhood. He was still working on his career and making networking connections, and wasn’t ready to get married. Or at least that’s what he’d told Mummy last Christmas.

 

/\/\/\/\/\

 

This lunch that Pansy had ‘invited’ her to felt more a command performance than an actual invitation. Millicent could feel resentment building in her as she walked down Diagon Alley and made her way to the café.

“Millicent,” A very masculine voice called out to her.

Millicent turned. “Klaus! What are you doing here?” She asked in surprise.

“Eating lunch, little duck,” Klaus told her with a smirk. “Is that not what people do at cafés?”

“Don’t be cute,” Millicent huffed at him.

Klaus’ smirk grew. “I can’t help that, little duck. It is my fate to be so.”

“Arse,” Millicent muttered. Still, she tipped her face up so that Klaus could kiss her cheeks. “How is your mother?”

“Mutti is fine,” Klaus said with a grave nod. “Thank you for asking.”

“Please tell her I asked after her,” Millicent said with a fond smile.

“Millicent.” Pansy’s voice was brightly brittle.

Surprised, Millicent whirled around and almost lost her balance. Klaus immediately moved forward to put an arm about her waist and steady her.

“You are well, little duck?” Klaus murmured to her in German.

“Yes, thank you,” Millicent muttered. She patted Klaus’ arm.

“You’re looking well,” Pansy drawled as she eyed Klaus speculatively. “Durmstrang was obviously good for you.”

“Klaus was just leaving,” Millicent said with a tight smile.

“This is true,” Klaus agreed. He took Millicent’s and kissed the tips of her fingers. “I will see you later, little duck.”

Pansy turned so that she could watch Klaus walk away. Then she turned back to Millicent and tilted her head slightly.

“Not bad, Bulstrode. Not bad at all,” Pansy drawled.

“We aren’t together,” Millicent muttered as she headed into the café.

“Not because he isn’t interested,” Pansy scoffed. “That boy wants you.”

“It wasn’t serious,” Millicent protested.

“And you want serious?” Pansy asked.

“Welcome, Miss Parkinson,” the Maître d’ greeted them with a little bow; Millicent turned to the Maître d’ with a polite, social smile, ignoring the looks that Pansy was shooting at her. “Mr. Potter is already here,” the Maître d’ continued blithely.

“Potter’s here?” Millicent could hear her voice rise in agitation and she winced.

“I didn’t—” Pansy began to protest only to fall silent when she spotted Potter sitting at a table with Hermione Granger. “Fabulous,” Pansy huffed.

At that moment, Potter looked up, spotted Pansy, and waved enthusiastically at her. Both witches sighed heavily.

“Come on,” Millicent grumbled. She waved a hand towards Potter and Hermione. “Once more into the breach?”

“Pansy,” Potter said with a besotted smile. “What brings you here?”

“Having lunch with my dear friend Millicent,” Pansy replied with a smirk in Millicent’s direction. “You do remember Millicent from Hogwarts?”

Potter frowned at Millicent for several long moments. He flinched and it didn’t take a genius to work out that Hermione had kicked him under the table.

“Of course,” he managed to get out.

“I do know that it’s terribly hard for you to keep this straight, Granger, but Harry is my boyfriend. Try not to damage him,” Pansy said in cool little voice, her dark eyes narrowed on Hermione’s face.

Millicent snorted and sat down next to Hermione. “Nobody wants Potter except for you, Pansy,” she drawled.

“Don’t be stupid, Millicent,” Pansy retorted. “Witches practically fling themselves at him. I’ve had to completely redo his wards.”

“I’m sorry,” Millicent countered in a syrupy sweet voice. “I meant nobody with any taste or class, which is… well… apparently Hermione and me.”

“And Daphne,” Hermione added cheerfully. Millicent nodded at Hermione.

Harry Potter stared at the two of them in horror. “You’re supposed to be on my side,” he protested.

“Hardly darling,” Pansy said with a toss of her hair.  

At Hogwarts, Hermione would probably have sighed and her shoulders would have slumped. This Hermione, who had spent several years under the strict eye of Narcissa Malfoy, sat with her spine mostly erect and her shoulders back. Her chin may have dropped a bit, but these things happened.

“I am on your side,” Hermione told Potter with a cool little smile that was _definitely_ from Narcissa Malfoy.

“I know,” Potter sighed. “It’s just…” and here he waved a hand at the table, indicating all three witches.

“Should we be insulted by that?” Millicent asked curiously.

“Pansy does the same thing when she’s surrounded by Gryffindors,” Hermione said with a shrug.

“So no then,” Millicent decided.

Hermione grinned at her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Giving a Future a Ghost of a Chance

“I hate Yule,” Millicent grumbled as Daphne dragged her through _another_ shop gaily decorated with icicles and frosted pinecones.

“No, you don’t,” Daphne countered. She held up a hideously ornate loving cup. “What do you think?”

“I think someone should have binned that ages ago,” Millicent said with a shudder. Daphne smirked at her.

“It’s for Pansy and Potter,” Daphne explained with a level of gleeful malice that was intimidating.

“What did Pansy do to you?” Millicent asked.

“Potter said that the Harpies were going to pound the Appleby Arrows,” Daphne said with a sniff. Millicent rolled her eyes.

“Does he even know that you have an understanding with Adrian Pucey?” Millicent asked.

“I don’t know,” Daphne admitted with a shrug. She examined the loving cup once more. “Still… I think it’s perfect.”

“Perfectly awful,” Millicent said. “Pansy will murder you if you give that to them.”

“Maybe,” Daphne replied carelessly. “Are you going to the Yule Ball?”

“I have to attend,” Millicent reminded her. “Both Hermione and Mummy have threatened me.”

“You know that they’ll be there,” Daphne said while she examined some atrociously ornate silverware, and studiously avoided looking at Millicent.

“It’s been years,” Millicent muttered.

“And yet you gave them a direct cut at Agrippa’s Imports,” Daphne murmured back. She flashed Millicent an apologetic smile. “Hermione didn’t tattle.”

“So are you asking for them, or because you’re curious?” Millicent asked in a voice that was glacially cold.

Daphne paused and looked at Millicent with an inscrutable expression. “Can it be both?”

“I’m not sure,” Millicent admitted.

“Who are you angry at?” Daphne asked in a soft voice.

“I’m not sure,” Millicent sighed. “Myself? Them?”

“Ah.” Daphne patted her on the arm and didn’t mention the Charity Ball for the rest of the day.

 

/\/\/\/\/\

 

 

The night of the Charity Ball, Millicent contemplated faking an illness. Spattergoit was promising… it lingered for weeks and Millicent could use it to avoid people for months. Dragon Pox was a possibility, except for the fact that she’d been vaccinated as a child and most of her year mates had seen the vaccination scar on her right buttock.

Millicent scowled at her wallpaper while the Bulstrode House Elf, Rilly, fussed with her hair.

“Miss Millie is looking very pretty,” Rilly decided after a few extra pats. “Bad boys will be regretting their behavior.”

“I doubt it,” Millicent muttered.

Rilly put her hands on her hips and glared at Millicent. “Miss Millie not be knowing what happens in Malfoy Manor or Zabini Villa.”

“No, I don’t,” Millicent agreed.

Rilly pointed a finger at her charge. “If Rilly says bad boys be sorry, they be sorry.”

“Yes, Rilly,” Millicent sighed. Rilly nodded at that, her great ears flapping.

“There is Rilly’s good Miss Millie,” Rilly said with satisfaction. She stepped back and looked Millicent over. “Miss Millie be ready.”

“Thank you, Rilly,” Millicent said with a sigh.

With a heavy heart, Millicent walked from her room toward the grand staircase that curved down to the foyer. One hand on the balustrade, chin held high, Millicent carefully walked down the stairs. At the bottom stood Mummy, Daddy, and Millicent’s older brother, Hereward. She took the last step and then she was standing before them.

“How do I look?” Millicent asked nervously.

Carefully, she turned in a circle, showing off the dress robes that Mummy had helped her buy on a shopping trip to Paris last week. The gown was made of layers of white tulle with black embroidery and jet beading in an ornate design. Black silk gloves ended above her elbows. She paused and frowned at Daddy and her older brother.

“Well?” She demanded.

Daddy blinked rapidly. “You look beautiful, sweetheart.”

“Not bad at all, Mills,” Hereward told her with a smirk.

“You look lovely,” Mummy said with a little sniffle.

“Come on, kiddo,” Hereward said and held out his arm. “We’ve got a ball to amaze.”

 

/\/\/\/\/\

 

It was impossible to avoid the staring. Wherever Millicent turned, there was either Blaise or Draco — watching her. It was distracting, and Hereward noticed.

“Who are they?” He asked with a small frown.

“That’s Blaise Zabini,” she replied, indicating him with a nod of her head as Hereward spun her expertly around the dance floor.

“And the other tosser?” Hereward growled.

“Draco Malfoy,” Millicent sighed.

“Merlin’s stones, Mills,” Hereward muttered.

“I know,” Millicent agreed.

“They why you begged to go to Durmstrang?” Hereward asked.

“You went to Durmstrang,” Millicent reminded her brother.

“Yes, I did,” Hereward agreed. “They had the curriculum I needed for the Mastery I wanted. You _wanted_ to go to Hogwarts because you wanted to attend school with Parkinson and Greengrass.”

“I was _eleven_ ,” Millicent reminded him.

“What did they do?” Hereward asked with just enough nonchalance that Millicent quirked a brow at him.

“Nothing,” she muttered tightly.

“Nothing,” Hereward repeated. “ _Nothing_ made you hide out at the Abbey like some kind of social pariah for the last few years.”

“It’s complicated,” Millicent sighed.

“I’ve got all the time in the world,” Hereward told her. He paused and then gave her a sharp-edged smile. “They might not though. Once I’ve had a chat with Everard, they might not have very much time at all.”

“It was just… stupid teenage angst,” Millicent protested. “I thought… I thought that Zabini loved me. I was wrong. End of story.”

“That true?” Hereward asked.

“Not exactly, no,” a very familiar voice replied.

Millicent stiffened in Hereward’s arms and glared at him like the traitor he was. Hereward ignored her glare to focus on Draco Malfoy.

“You hurt my baby sister and my brother and I will make sure that St. Mungo’s needs to open a new wing just to treat you,” Hereward announced with bright smile.

“Understood,” Draco agreed. He bowed to Hereward as Millicent’s traitor brother passed her into Draco’s arms.

They danced around the ballroom floor stiffly. Draco sighed heavily.

“I’m sorry, Millicent,” he said at last.

“Shut up,” Millicent whispered. She avoided looking Malfoy in the eye. She also avoided Blaise’s gaze as it followed them around the dance floor.

“I told Blaise this was a bad idea,” Draco sighed. His arms tightened around her and before Millicent could make a scene, she was shoved into a room.

Quickly, Millicent broke free of Draco’s hands, pulling away from him and spinning in a circle. It was a small office with scattered chairs and a small couch. Millicent suspected that it was used for consultations. She froze when she spotted Blaise leaning against the wall, watching her with an unreadable expression.

“What’s going on?” She whispered.

A sharp, bitter laugh escaped Blaise. He pushed off the wall and moved toward her.

“I wish I knew,” he growled. “One moment, my girlfriend was meeting me in secluded corners, the next she was… you were fucking _gone_ , Mills. Do you know what that did to me?”

“Did to _you_?” Millicent’s laughter had an hysterical edge to it. “What about those secluded corners, Blaise? It wasn’t just your girlfriend that you were meeting, was it?”

“I don’t know what you…,” Blaise began only to frown at Millicent in confusion. “Mills… I… it isn’t what you’re thinking.”

“Everyone was watching me,” Draco whispered brokenly. Millicent turned to stare at him. “I couldn’t… there wasn’t anywhere in the dungeons that I could… we weren’t…”

“I loved you, Millicent,” Blaise said with ragged determination. “I would never have disrespected you like that.” His shoulders slumped and he turned to look at Draco. “But Draco was my friend, and I was one of the only ones that hadn’t…” His arm absently rubbed at his forearm and Millicent spotted Draco’s flinch out of the corner of her eye.

“You may have been friends, but you aren’t anymore,” Millicent observed quietly.

Draco flushed pink and avoided eye contact.

“It’s been years,” Blaise reminded her. “You left me, if you’ll recall.” He scowled at her then. “You ran off to Durmstrang and that Viking wannabe.”

“Klaus is not a Viking wannabe,” Millicent protested.

“ _Klaus_ ,” Draco scoffed under his breath. Millicent whirled on him.

“What gives you the right to tell me who I can and can’t shag,” she demanded. “We were nothing to one another.”

“No, we weren’t,” Draco agreed quietly. He smiled sadly at her. “I was enough of a git that I probably wouldn’t have dated you, even if you would have had me.”

“You were,” Millicent huffed.

“Millicent,” Blaise whispered. He moved closer and cupped her cheek in one warm hand.

“Blaise… don’t.” Millicent tried to take a step back, but Draco was standing right behind her. She stared up at Blaise with wide eyes. “I don’t understand.”

“I still love you,” Blaise murmured. He rubbed his thumb over her lower lip.

“But you love Draco,” Millicent whispered. Blaise’s teeth were a flash of blinding white against his skin.

“I do love Draco,” Blaise agreed. His eyes flicked over Millicent’s shoulder. “Rather a lot.”

“I love you, too, you wanker,” Draco’s voice was close to Millicent’s ear, his breath a puff of warmth against her skin. She shivered where she stood and watched Blaise’s focus return to her. “Thing is… I’m not as much of a git as I used to be.”

“What are you saying?” Millicent asked, her eyes on Blaise’s face.

“Do you believe me?” Blaise asked her. “Do you believe that I didn’t… that I would _never_ …”

“I…” Millicent remembered how young and earnest and sweet Blaise had been during their Sixth Year. He had been smooth and suave, of course, but underneath she had seen the uncertainty. “Yes,” she whispered. “I believe you.”

“I wouldn’t have either, Mills.” Draco’s breath caressed the back of her neck. “I’ve never been one to play second fiddle to anyone. You know that.”

“That’s true,” Millicent agreed.

“Now that we have that cleared up,” Blaise muttered.

Cupping her face with both hands, Blaise tilted her face up so that he could stare at her. It was a little disconcerting since the last time she’s seen him; Blaise was an inch or two shorter than she was.

“Blaise.” His name was a sigh on Millicent’s lips.

“I missed you so much, Mills,” Blaise muttered, his eyes on her lips.

“You have Draco now,” Millicent reminded him.

“He does,” Draco agreed. His hands were a warm, heavy weight on her hips as he leaned forward to brush his lips against her ear. “You could have me, too, if you wanted.”

Caught between the two of them, Millicent shuddered. “I don’t… what do you… what?” She asked incoherently.

“The both of us, Mills,” Blaise explained in a soft, gentle voice. “You can have both of us.”

“What… for the night?” Millicent was so confused.

For years she had suspected that Blaise and Draco were together, and that Blaise was using her as a way to confuse people. She had been so hurt and so angry for so long. People hadn’t wanted to date Millicent Bulstrode. She had never been the sort of person that wizards panted after—not like Daphne or Pansy or even Tracey. Millicent was just… Millicent. She’d been so thrilled when Blaise said that he liked her… that he wanted to date _her_.

“No, you silly witch,” Blaise said with a laugh.

“Forever,” Draco breathed against her skin. “We want to keep you forever.”

Blaise rolled his eyes at her. “Draco’s always been one for dramatics.”

“I remember,” Millicent said with a smile.

“But he’s not wrong,” Blaise rushed to reassure her. “We want… whatever you’ll let us have.”

“Forever?” Millicent repeated skeptically.

Blaise’s smile was soft and sweet. “Forever is fine by me.”

A soft kiss was pressed against her shoulder.

“What if I don’t want forever?” Millicent asked. Both wizards stiffened, and Millicent could see the pain that flashed in Blaise’s eyes. Draco’s fingers tightened, digging into her hips.

“That’s your decision, of course,” Blaise replied.

Millicent turned around slowly so that Blaise was pressed against her back and she was facing a cautious-looking Draco Malfoy. His hands fluttered at his sides before he carefully cupped her face in his hands.

“You want this?” Millicent asked him with a small frown.

“I think maybe I do,” Draco replied with a note of wonder in his voice.

“You want _me_ ,” Millicent pressed.

Draco stared at her, his pale eyes wide. “Have you seen yourself, Bulstrode?” He demanded. His hands dropped back down to her hips where they flexed. “It’s not exactly some kind of hardship.”

“I don’t love you,” Millicent pointed out.

“You will,” Draco told her with an arrogant smirk.

“You’re a cocky bastard,” she muttered to herself.

“Oh sweetheart,” Draco purred at her. “You don’t know the half of it.”

“Prove it,” Millicent taunted him.

“If I do, will you give us a chance?” Draco asked.

Millicent smirked at him. “Maybe I will.”

 

 


End file.
